


Half a Brick (Or, what comes around)

by kathkin



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, solid contender for most niche fic I have ever written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:55:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22035892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kathkin/pseuds/kathkin
Summary: That Tuesday evening, the world came back into his life in the form of half a brick through his kitchen window.Gandalf is part of an ancient order of immortal beings sent to earth to prevent interference by certain malevolent forces that ought not to be there. He has bigger problems to deal with than troubled teenagers with a habit of breaking things when they're stressed. He certainly doesn't need to takeanotherchild under his wing. Or, Gandalf adopts Pippin.
Relationships: Gandalf | Mithrandir & Pippin Took
Comments: 78
Kudos: 408





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 1) This fic was inspired by [a Discord conversation](https://penny-anna.tumblr.com/post/183869252128/went-back-and-found-the-original-conversation-that) back in December 2018.
> 
> 2) I did not do a lot of research into the UK foster system before writing this so please forgive any inaccuracies. Also, this is not 100% set in the real world which should excuse some inaccuracies.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I don’t stay anywhere long enough. I move schools all the time. I’m used to it. Just how it is. It’s just how it’s going to be. I missed the forever home window like. Five years ago. I mean, what kind of weirdo wants to adopt a fourteen year old?”_

When one was many, many thousands of years old, the nature of things was a lot clearer. Human history was not so much a progression as a cycle. Civilisations rose, civilisations fell. Things were discovered, and rediscovered, and re-rediscovered. Sometimes, for a few decades or a few centuries, humanity would claw itself in the right direction – and then, always, the boulder rolled down the hill, and it was back to the blood, and the fighting. Beauty, followed by ugliness.

And through it all, humans themselves flaring briefly and then dying, like struck matches. The cycle went on. They all began to blur into one.

It was easy, under the circumstances, to withdraw from the world for a time. He had once spent a whole century in a cabin in the forests of central Russia. He’d lived for three decades on a tiny island in the Pacific without seeing a single human. For the past seventy years, he’d lived in his little house in his little city, with his books and his own thoughts, avoiding everyone but his order. This time, as every time, he had said to himself, _this is it. I’m finished with them._

He should have known better. The world had a habit of finding its way back into his bubble, no matter how long and hard he tried to keep it out. That Tuesday evening, the world came back in the form of half a brick through his kitchen window.

The half a brick smashed through the window pane, bounced off the sink with a ringing of metal, and landed dustily on the floor, startling Gandalf with such intensity that he nearly dropped his tea, which would have been a great shame, its being his last tea bag and his being very averse to going out for more.

Jumping up from his chair, he slammed his hands down upon the table and with the fury of a rudely awakened dragon shouted, “ _hey_!”

Outside, a scuffling of feet.

He marched to the broken window and hauled it up with a screech of old wood. There, in the bare yard beside his house, stood the culprit. A scrawny, ginger-haired teenage boy, holding, if Gandalf wasn’t mistaken, the other half of the brick.

“What do you think you’re doing to my house?” he rumbled.

The boy’s expression had changed from shock at being caught to incredulity. He said, “you live in there?” His eyes scanned the house, from the window where Gandalf stood to the brown-paper-lined window of his study, and back. “Um. Ew.”

“Are you going to explain yourself or aren’t you?” barked Gandalf.

“So are you like, an urban hermit?” said the boy.

“That’s beside the point.” As a matter of fact, _urban hermit_ was a fairly accurate description of his persuasions, but he wasn’t about to admit it to _this_ little monster.

“Are you a squatter?” said the boy. “Because squatting’s illegal.”

“I am _not_ a squatter,” said Gandalf. “This is _my_ house and you’ve – you’ve _broken_ it! What do you have to say for yourself?

The boy cocked his head to the side like a puzzled dog and said, “I’d say I did you a favour.”

“That’s it,” said Gandalf, and heaved the window all the way up.

As soon as he saw what Gandalf meant to do the boy’s eyes went wide. He dropped the half brick and bolted around the house.

It had been a long time since he’d done anything as absurd as climb out a window, and his joints were a bit creaky, but he was far fitter than he looked to human eyes. He hopped down to the dusty concrete of the yard and pelted after the boy.

Gandalf caught him in the act of climbing the fence into the back alley and grabbing him by the back of his shirt hauled him down. “ _Oh_ no you don’t,” he said as the boy howled.

“Let go of me!” he said.

“Where are your parents?” said Gandalf.

The boy pouted, still wrestling him. “I’m an orphan.”

“Where do you live?” said Gandalf.

“I’m homeless.” The boy went limp, hanging from his shirt in Gandalf’s grip like a sad little puppet. “You can’t be angry at me. I’m a homeless orphan.”

“Very well,” said Gandalf. “In that case, how about you and I go and talk to the police?” So saying, he began to heave the boy in the direction of the street.

“Hey – no!” said the boy as he was dragged bodily around the corner. “No!” He squirmed in Gandalf’s grip. “Not the police!”

“No?” said Gandalf.

“No!” said the boy.

“Then tell me where you live,” said Gandalf.

The boy stared up at him, a furious glower of betrayal. He pointed at the house next door. “That one.”

“I see.” Gandalf released his shirt.” Lead on.” 

When he’d last interacted with his neighbours at number six, the house had been occupied by a very congenial Pakistani family. He’d already guessed that they had moved on, but the sour-faced woman with the cigarette who answered the door was a surprise. This had always been such a friendly street, with friendly people. That was why he had chosen it.

“Ah, madam,” said Gandalf. “I’m very afraid your son just put a brick through my kitchen window.”

The woman put her cigarette to her mouth. She said, “he’s not my son.”

“Oh?” said Gandalf.

“Told you,” said the boy. “I’m an orphan,” he added in high, melodramatic tones.

“You’re not an orphan, Peregrin,” said the woman. “Stop telling people you’re an orphan.”

The boy, Peregrin, pouted. “In my defence,” he said, “it was only half a brick.”

The woman turned to Gandalf and said, very wearily, “I’m his foster mother. I’ll pay for the window.”

“That would be appreciated,” said Gandalf.

“Let me know how much,” said the woman, and looking at Peregrin she ducked her head as if to say _get in here, you_.

Peregrin gave Gandalf a reproachful sort of look. In return Gandalf gave him a shove over the threshold.

The door shut behind him. Gandalf was down the steps and a few paces along the street when he heard the shouting start, muffled and voiceless through the closed door, and for a moment he wavered.

It wasn’t his problem, he told himself. The boy deserved a scolding. 

He thought of the look in Peregrin’s eyes as he’d gone into the house. He shook himself, and went on home.

*

Rain was pattering down upon his umbrella. Muddy, leaf-flecked water flowed down the sloping street, sloshing into the drain. Gandalf stomped along in his rubber boots, whistling, feeling rather good. He liked grey, rainy days. They suited his nature.

Up ahead, just beyond the drain, someone was sitting on the curb. A hunched, dark figure. He looked them over from a distance. They were sitting alert, rocking slightly on their damp perch. Small, and slight. He drew closer, guessing who it was long before he was close enough to say for sure.

He might have decided to forego contact with humanity at large indefinitely, but he still had duties. He had a purpose, in the world. He had taken an oath. He walked past his front steps, tramping down the road towards the boy.

As he got close, the boy turned to look at him. His eyes, peering out from beneath his navy blue hood and a tuft of hair dark with rain, were bright and furious. “Oh,” he said. “It’s you.”

“What are you doing, Peregrin?” said Gandalf.

“Sitting,” said Peregrin. “What are _you_ doing?”

“Walking,” said Gandalf. “Why on earth are you sitting outside in the rain?”

Peregrin turned his face away and hugged his knees, resuming his uneasy rocking. He mumbled.

“What was that?” said Gandalf. “Speak up, lad.”

“I said,” said Peregrin, “my foster mother said _get out of my house and don’t come back_ , so I got out.”

“Ah,” said Gandalf. “What brought that on?”

Peregrin made no pretence. “I called her an ugly cow,” he said to his knees. “Which she is.”

“So you sat down in the rain?” said Gandalf.

“It was dry when I sat down!” Peregrin protested.

Gandalf looked at the net curtained windows of Peregrin’s foster home. He sighed to himself. “That’s enough of that,” he said. “Come here.” Taking Peregrin’s arm he heaved him to his feet. “Let’s get you home.”

He’d make sure the woman was aware that her charge had been sitting outdoors in the pouring rain; and if that had no affect, he’d find out what the appropriate agency was and contact them.

“No,” said Peregrin. “No!” He tugged his arm out of Gandalf’s grip. “I’m not going back to that house tonight.”

“Peregrin,” said Gandalf.

“Don’t you _Peregrin_ me,” said Peregrin. “I don’t even know you.” Clutching his arm where he’d been grabbed, he looked up and down the red brick street and began to walk heavily downhill. “I’ll find somewhere else, if I’m bothering you.”

Gandalf stood beneath his umbrella, clutching his package of pipe tobacco and biscuits, and inwardly sighed.

Swinging around, he put his hand on Peregrin’s should and said, “come along.”

“I’m not going back,” said Peregrin, shrugging him off again.

“I’m not taking you back,” said Gandalf. “Come inside and get out of the rain. I’ll make you tea.”

Peregrin gave him a baleful look. He said, “is this a kidnapping?”

“No,” said Gandalf.

Peregrin sighed. “That figures,” he said. “Alright. Lead the way.”

The lock upon Gandalf’s door was stiff, and took some jiggling; the hinges were stiffer, and whined. He worked the door open one-handed and gave Peregrin an encouraging shove inward between the shoulder blades. Stepping inside, he turned on the light.

There Peregrin stood, dripping on the tiles, staring up at the high staircase, the pictures lining the walls of the narrow hallway, the four grandfather clocks, the hat stand where Gandalf kept his staff propped.

He said, “do you live here?”

“I do,” said Gandalf.

“It smells funky,” said Peregrin.

“Does it?” said Gandalf. “I never noticed.” He nudged Peregrin in the direction of the bathroom. “I’ll get you a towel.”

He got a fire going in the kitchen with his usual speed while Peregrin towelled off his hair, and set about making tea. By the time Peregrin pattered back through, with bare feet and towel-damp hair, the kitchen was warm and the tea hot.

“Do sit down,” said Gandalf, already in his usual seat.

Peregrin eyed the fire suspiciously. He sat. He picked up his tea, and sipped it.

“Have a biscuit,” said Gandalf, nudging the plate in his direction.

Peregrin took a biscuit and looked it over. Then, in a manner characteristic of a teenage human, he shoved it whole into his mouth and tried to speak around it.

“What was that?” said Gandalf.

Peregrin swallowed and said, “sorry about the brick.”

“Ah,” said Gandalf.

“I wouldn’t have put half a brick through your window if I’d known anyone lived here,” said Peregrin. “I thought for sure this place was abandoned. Sorry.”

“Fair enough,” said Gandalf. “Though even if the house _was_ abandoned, you still oughtn’t have been throwing bricks through the window.

“Why not?” said Peregrin. “No-one cares.”

“I care,” said Gandalf. “You shouldn’t break things for no reason.” He took a biscuit and dunked it in his tea.

“I didn’t do it for no reason,” said Peregrin.

“No?” said Gandalf.

“It made me feel a lot better,” said Peregrin. He sipped his tea. “Anyway, I wouldn’t worry. I’ll be out of your hair before long.”

“Oh?” said Gandalf.

“I sense group home in my immediate future,” said Peregrin.

“Group home?” said Gandalf.

Peregrin gave him a pointed look. “You know,” he said. “Where they send the foster kids no-one wants to foster.”

“I take it you and your foster mother aren’t getting along.”

“She doesn’t like me,” said Peregrin. “So, I don’t like her, which makes her not like me even more.”

“How long have you been staying with her?” said Gandalf.

“Four weeks,” said Peregrin.

“That’s not very long,” said Gandalf. “Perhaps you ought to give her a chance.”

“I’ve left foster homes quicker,” said Peregrin. “My record’s three days,” he added blithely, and drank his tea.

“Good gracious,” said Gandalf. “What happened?”

Peregrin gave an exaggerated shrug. “I didn’t do anything!” he said, which was certainly a lie but Gandalf didn’t call him on it. He put down his mug, and said, “let’s see. This is my second foster home this year. Before this one I was in group home for eight weeks and before that I was staying with this family who wouldn’t let me eat the same food as their real kid and then they made me leave because they said I was disobedient. Then I was in group home over Christmas and before that I was in this foster home with four other kids for like three months but then one of the girls stole our foster mother’s wedding ring and said I did it so I was out.”

“You could have explained,” said Gandalf.

“I did,” said Peregrin. “They didn’t believe me.”

“How many foster homes have you had?” said Gandalf.

“I dunno.” Peregrin took another biscuit. “What’s your name, anyway?”

“Hm?” said Gandalf. “Ah. You can call me Gandalf.”

“Gandalf,” Peregrin repeated. “Is that Mr Gandalf or Gandalf something-or-other?”

“Just Gandalf,” said Gandalf.

“Yeah, but is it your first name or your last name?” said Peregrin.

“Hmm,” said Gandalf. “I’d say it’s my fifth name. And so, I suppose, my last by default.” Chewing his biscuit, Peregrin gave him a hard, judging stare. “And how about you? Are you Peregrin something-or-other?”

Peregrin swallowed and said, “I’m Peregrin Took.”

“Funny sort of name,” remarked Gandalf.

“Says Mr Just-Gandalf-it’s-my-fifth-name,” said Peregrin. “I prefer Pippin.”

“To Gandalf?” said Gandalf.

“No, you weirdo, to Peregrin,” said Peregrin. “It’s a nickname.”

“I see,” said Gandalf. “Well, I prefer Peregrin. It has a sort of dignity to it.”

Peregrin shot him a look over his tea. “My friends call me Pippin,” he said. “Or, they do when I have them.”

“You don’t have any friends?” said Gandalf.

“I dunno,” said Peregrin – Pippin, if they were to be friends. “There’s some boys are school who are alright. I just don’t like to –” He sipped his tea. “I don’t like putting down roots,” he finished, which Gandalf was certain wasn’t what he’d wanted to say.

“You ought to give it a try,” said Gandalf. “It’s very lonely, not having friends.”

“I don’t stay anywhere long enough,” said Pippin. “I move schools all the time. I’m used to it. Just how it is.” He leaned back in his chair, nursing his tea, looking at the patched window. “I missed the forever home window like, five years ago.” Turning to Gandalf he said, “I mean, what kind of weirdo wants to adopt a fourteen year old, right?”

He said it lightly, as if it were a joke; but when Gandalf didn’t reply, the spark of humour in his eyes died as if he was only now processing what he had said. He took another biscuit. “What do you do, anyway?” 

“Do?” said Gandalf.

“Your job,” said Pippin.

“I’m a wizard,” said Gandalf.

Pippin gave him a quizzical look. “Like, a stage magician?”

“No, a real one,” said Gandalf.

Pippin cocked his head to the side. “I’m fourteen.”

“Good for you,” said Gandalf. “And I’m a wizard.” With a spark of magic, he lit his pipe.

Pippin’s eyes went, for a moment, very big – and then slightly glazed as he went through the mental contortions that mortals were so good at. _Did I just see that_ , he was thinking; _no, I can’t have just seen what I just saw_. And just like that he had himself convinced he had made a mistake. He had not seen fire come from a person’s fingers. That would be absurd.

“Alright, have it your way,” he said, and sipped his tea.

“I shall.” Gandalf contently blew a smoke ring.

Pippin watched its graceful trajectory to the ceiling, and said, “do you vape?”

“Vape?” said Gandalf.

“Vape,” said Pippin. “Vaporise?”

Gandalf put his pipe to his mouth. 

“Electronic cigarette?” said Pippin.

“I don’t smoke cigarettes,” said Gandalf. “Ghastly things. Most unseemly.”

“No, it’s,” said Pippin. “That’s not what – y’know, never mind.” He sipped tea and said, “I can’t tell if you actually don’t know what vaping is or if you’re just pretending not to to annoy me.”

“And why would I do that,” said Gandalf.

“I don’t know,” said Pippin. “People are annoying on purpose all the time.”

“Well, I suppose you’d know,” said Gandalf.

“I’m never annoying on purpose,” said Pippin tartly. “I’m naturally this way.” He reached for the biscuits.

Gandalf watched him count out three more, and considered. “Have you eaten?”

“No,” said Pippin with his mouth full.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” said Gandalf.

Very pointedly, Pippin swallowed. “No,” he said. He took on a guilty countenance and said, “you don’t have to give me dinner or anything.”

“No?” said Gandalf. “Perhaps I want to.”

“I just mean, I don’t want to be any trouble,” said Pippin. “Not after you let me into your house. That was really nice of you. And I. Um. I’m sorry about the brick. And I should go.”

“Finish your tea first,” said Gandalf. “What do boys eat these days?”

“I eat everything,” said Pippin.

“So do I,” said Gandalf. “How about beans on toast?”

“Are you being nice on purpose to make me feel guilty?” said Pippin. “Because it’s working.”

“You seem hungry and in need of something warm,” said Gandalf. “Why on earth would I be trying to make you feel guilty?”

“So many reasons,” said Pippin.

“Have another biscuit,” said Gandalf. “I’ll find the can opener.”

It had been a long while since he had had anyone to cook for – although given the amount of cooking involved in beans on toast, perhaps he still hadn’t. He heated the beans whilst Pippin sat nibbling on the edge of his biscuit in a state of apparent anxiety; but he dug into his beans, once they were in front of him.

“You ought to make some friends,” said Gandalf.

Pippin paused in the act of transferring beans to mouth, tomato sauce dripping from his fork. “I’ll be at another school before long,” he said with a weary air he had no right to at a mere fourteen years of age. “And the other kids think I’m weird.” Gandalf leaned back in his chair, and considered. “Perhaps you’d like to come to tea again sometime.”

Thoughtfully, Pippin chewed a forkful of beans on toast. He said, “that’s really kind of you, but I don’t think social services would like it.”

“No?” said Gandalf.

“You’re an old man who’s like, some kind of urban hermit,” said Pippin. “Trying to make friends with a fourteen year old boy. There’s implications.” He returned to his beans.

Gandalf gave him a hard stare. “Are you saying you think I’m trying to –”

“Oh – no,” said Pippin around a mouthful of beans. He swallowed and went on, “I know you’re alright, I’m just saying social services will think it’s weird.”

“Hm,” said Gandalf.

“Are you like, really lonely,” said Pippin between mouthfuls, “or is it a charity thing?”

“I’d say that depends on what you mean by charity,” said Gandalf.

“Hm,” said Pippin. He had finished his beans, and sat licking sauce off the fork in a considering manner. He said, “you’re really weird. Thank you for the beans. I should go.” He sat back in his chair, and sighed. “I’m going to be in so much trouble.”

“We’ll see about that,” said Gandalf.

“I found him sitting in the rain,” he said to Pippin’s abashed foster mother. “I gather he was locked out of the house – forgot his keys, I suppose – no no, he was no trouble. Good as gold.”

This time, as he descended to the pavement there was no shouting.

*

The following Tuesday afternoon found Pippin once again on his doorstep, scowling and bearing a slack and somewhat tattered schoolbag.

“Is there a reason my foster mother thinks you’re my tutor?” he said by way of greeting.

“Good afternoon to you too,” said Gandalf.

“Yes, hi,” said Pippin. “Why does my foster mother think you’re my tutor?”

“ _Does_ she?” said Gandalf with poorly feigned innocence.

“Don’t play dumb.” Pippin shouldered past him into the house, taking off his schoolbag.

“Shoes off, please,” said Gandalf. Pippin rolled his eyes but duly toed off his trainers. “Tea?”

“Sure,” said Pippin.

“Seriously, though,” he said a moment later in the kitchen. “What is happening right now, and why does my foster mother think someone hired you?”

“Magic,” said Gandalf.

Pippin gave him a look over his mug. “For real.”

“Misdirection,” said Gandalf.

“Misdirection?” said Pippin.

Gandalf gestured vaguely with his mug. “Your foster mother is under the impression social services is paying me. Social services is under the impression your foster mother is paying out of pocket. It’s very easy to deal with these kinds of people if you act like you know what you’re doing.”

“Smart,” said Pippin. “Is anyone actually paying you?”

“No, why?” said Gandalf.

“Never mind,” said Pippin.

“Biscuits?” said Gandalf.

“Please,” said Pippin. He took two, and leaned back comfortably in his chair, evidently prepared to make himself at home in Gandalf’s kitchen.

“Now, then.” Gandalf put his stack of carefully chosen books down upon the kitchen table with a firm thud. “What subject do you most need help with?”

Pippin stopped chewing his biscuit. He looked at the door, as if expecting to find someone watching, someone Gandalf was putting on a show for. He swallowed, and said, “wait, you’re actually going to try and tutor me?”

“Well, yes,” said Gandalf. “I’m many things but a liar isn’t one of them.”

For a moment longer Pippin looked quite befuddled. Then he seemed to understand – if not to understand the situation, then to understand _something_ , perhaps something known only to himself. “You don’t want to tutor me,” he said, and shoving the rest of the biscuit into his mouth he leaned back still further on his chair with a shrill squeak of wood.

“Don’t I?” said Gandalf. “Why would I be offering, if I didn’t want to?”

“You don’t get it,” said Pippin. “No-one wants to teach me. I wouldn’t want to teach me, and I _am_ me.” 

“Is that so?” Gandalf followed the precarious path of Pippin’s chairs with his eyes. “Do you have to do that?”

“Yes,” said Pippin. Then he said, “I have ADHD. Do you know what that means?”

“I do,” said Gandalf.

“It stands for,” said Pippin, still rocking on his chair, “attention deficit – high definition.” At Gandalf’s hardening look he leaned forward, taking the chair with him. It thunked back into place upon the floor. “It means I’m a terrible student.”

“That’s not what it means,” said Gandalf.

“Anyway, what makes you think I need tutoring?” said Pippin. “I could be doing just fine for all you know.”

“Your foster mother seems to think otherwise,” said Gandalf.

“Well, she’s stupid,” said Pippin. “What would she know?”

“If you want more biscuits you’ll have to be more co-operative,” said Gandalf.

“I don’t need biscuits,” said Pippin, taking three more. “I’m not six.”

“As I understand it you’re behind on your studies,” said Gandalf. “That was her understanding, as to why social services had hired me.”

“If social services don’t want me behind on my studies they shouldn’t keep fucking me around!” said Pippin.

“Language,” said Gandalf, sliding the biscuits away from him.

“ _Seriously_?” said Pippin.

“You’re too young to be using that kind of vocabulary,” Gandalf told him.

“Well, fuck that!” said Pippin.

“No more biscuits,” said Gandalf.

Pippin glared, and began once again to rock on his chair. “I’ll have you know,” he said, “I’m criminally stupid.”

“Who told you that?” said Gandalf.

“My form tutor at my last school,” said Pippin.

“My, you have met some unpleasant people,” said Gandalf.

“I put a brick through your window and you don’t think I’m criminally stupid?” said Pippin.

“One or the other,” said Gandalf. “Certainly not both. What about arithmetic? Most children seem to struggle with that.”

Pippin had stopped listening. He had ceased his rocking, and his gaze drifted to the framed pictures on the kitchen mantelpiece. He pointed. “Is that supposed to be you?”

Gandalf looked where Pippin was pointing. The first photograph he’d had taken of himself, eighteen ninety-something. He’d been very severe, in those days, and had taken the occasion most seriously. “Yes.”

“Cause, I mean,” said Pippin. “You’re old but you’re not _that_ old.”

“For your information, I’m immortal,” said Gandalf.

“Nice Photoshop,” said Pippin. He resumed his rocking, and the chair resumed its squeaking. “Listen. I can do maths fine. I know most of my times tables. You don’t need to tutor me.”

“Well, I mean to,” said Gandalf.

“I’m going home,” said Pippin.

“If you want,” said Gandalf. So saying, he leaned back in his chair and lit his pipe. “Shall we do some arithmetic before you go?”

“You’re the worst person in the world and I hate you,” said Pippin.

“What does the school system cover these days,” said Gandalf. “Do you know algebra?”

“I know of it,” said Pippin.

“Then we shall start there,” said Gandalf.

Pippin, as it transpired, was not the best of students, though he was also far from the worst Gandalf had ever had; and it was not from want of trying, or not entirely. He had an air about him of one who had given up. He had concluded, at some point, that schoolwork was too difficult and too tedious and he was no longer going to try. Sometimes when Gandalf drew his attention back to his sums he had a despairing look in his eyes.

Sometimes he simply changed the subject.

“What are you smoking?” he said. “It smells really weird.”

“Tobacco,” said Gandalf.

“No, it’s not,” said Pippin.

“Your sums, Pippin,” said Gandalf patiently, and Pippin shot the page another of those despairing looks.

“Six and a half,” he said.

“Pay attention,” said Gandalf.

“I’m _trying_ ,” said Pippin. “I don’t even want to be here and I’m trying, since you won’t let me leave.”

“You can leave whenever you like,” said Gandalf. “I’m not keeping you here.”

Scowling, Pippin sank lower in his seat and stared at the wall. No doubt it had occurred to him that his foster mother would not be happy if he walked out on a lesson she thought someone was paying for.

“I’m trying,” he said, his tone once again despairing.

Numbers did not hold his focus. His eyes slid off them like water and onto other, more engaging things. He perked up only when Gandalf offered to lend him a book.  
“I can just,” he said, standing before the shelves in Gandalf’s sitting room, “take one?”

“If you want,” said Gandalf.

Pippin gave him a dubious look. “How do you know I’ll bring it back?”

“I shall have to trust you,” said Gandalf.

“They might have moved me on by next Tuesday,” said Pippin. “It happens.”

“I’m sure they won’t.” Gandalf slid a book off the shelf. “How about this? _The Once and Future King_.”

Holding the book, Pippin shrugged. “You’re just going to let me take your stuff?”

“Yes,” said Gandalf. “Why shouldn’t I?”

“How do you know I don’t steal things?” said Pippin.

“In my experience,” said Gandalf. “When you treat someone as if they’re trustworthy, they usually will be.” He clapped Pippin on the shoulder and went away into the hall, leaving him to make his mind up.

Pippin came out a moment later with the book in hand, bouncing towards his rucksack, his spirits well and truly lifted.

“I’ll bring it back next week,” he said, trying to force it into his very full rucksack.

“Of course,” said Gandalf.

“And, thanks for the tea and biscuits,” said Pippin. “You have shite taste in biscuits though.”

“Language,” said Gandalf.

“Piss off,” said Pippin. “And –” Disturbed by his attempts to force in the book, his schoolbag toppled over, scattering its contents all over Gandalf’s floor. “ _Shit_.” Pippin dropped to the ground and grabbed for his possessions.

“Let me,” said Gandalf, reaching down to help.

“No, no,” said Pippin. “I’ve got it – I’ll sort it, don’t worry.”

There was something in his voice, something furtive in his movements, and Gandalf looked over the fallen items – pens, schoolwork, gubbins – suspecting he’d find something that oughtn’t be there.

He saw it just as Pippin made an attempt to shove it out of sight behind his schoolbag. “You’re too young to have those,” he said.

Pippin paused in the act of hiding the packet of cigarettes, and scowled. “I’m not going to _smoke_ them,” he said as if it ought to be obvious.

“Oh?” said Gandalf. “Then why do you have them?”

Throwing the last of his things back into the schoolbag Pippin stood and shrugged it on. “Business,” he said.

“Business?” said Gandalf.

“Personal business,” said Pippin. Gandalf gave him one of his hardest looks, and like so many people before him, Pippin broke. “Look,” he said. “There’s this boy at school, his name’s Andrew, he said if I got him a packet of cigarettes he’d trade with me, so we’re going to trade at school tomorrow.”

“Trade for what, exactly?” said Gandalf.

“Spray paint,” said Pippin lightly.

“Which you need for…?”

“Art,” said Pippin in the same light tone. “What’s it to you?”

“You’re too young to buy those,” said Gandalf. “I refuse to believe someone sold them to you. You have a very young face.”

Pippin scowled at him. “I didn’t shoplift them, if that’s what you think. I don’t shoplift.”

“Then where did you get them?” said Gandalf.

Pippin looked at the door as if planning his exit. “She won’t miss them,” he said. “She smokes like three packs a day and she buys loads so she won’t run out. She’ll never notice.”

“So you did steal them.”

“Barely.” Pippin was already tucking the cigarettes more securely back into his pocket.

Gandalf held out his hand.

“What?” said Pippin.

“Give them to me.”

“What? No,” said Pippin.

“Hand them over,” said Gandalf.

“Or what?” said Pippin.

“Or I’ll telephone your foster mother right away and tell her you stole them,” said Gandalf.

Pippin’s stare turned icy. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would.”

“She won’t notice,” said Pippin. “And she’s a bitch. Remember how she locked me outside in the rain?”

“That’s not the point,” said Gandalf.

“How is it not the point?” said Pippin.

“You shouldn’t steal things, no matter how much you think someone deserves to be robbed,” said Gandalf. “You don’t get to make judgements like that. Give them to me and promise not to do it again and I won’t tell her you took them.”

Pippin’s stare turned from icy to fiery. After a long, unhappy moment, he smacked the cigarettes into Gandalf’s open hand. “Fine,” he said, shouldering his bag. “Take them. See if I care.”

“Now, Pippin,” said Gandalf.

“See you around,” said Pippin before he could finish. He slammed the door shut behind himself.

“Next week!” Gandalf called in his wake.

*

He sat in his kitchen for a long while and smoked his pipe; then, at a loss for what else to do, he telephoned another of his order.

“I think I’ve become responsible for a large child,” he said.

“Oh, dear,” said Radagast. In the background, something was chirruping loudly. “How large a child?”

“Fourteen years,” said Gandalf.

“Ah, that’s not my area at all,” said Radagast. “Once they –” The chirruping turned to a screeching, and his voice went faint as he stepped away from the phone. “ _Michael, stop that racket at once_.” He came back to the phone. “Once they get past the stage where they’re essentially hairless monkeys I don’t know what to do with them. Have you tried warm milk?”

“I don’t think the problems we’re having can be solved with warm milk,” said Gandalf.

“Then whatever it is, it’s beyond me,” said Radagast. “It’s not another orphan, is it?”

“No,” said Gandalf truthfully. “I’m tutoring him.”

“In what?” said Radagast.

“Whatever I feel like,” said Gandalf. 

The screeching in the background began again. “Excuse me,” said Radagast. “ _Michael, if you don’t stop that caterwauling you shall get no supper!_ ”

“Parrot?” said Gandalf.

“Monkey,” said Radagast. “Listen, I had better go. Try the warm milk, I find it works wonders.”

“I shall give it a go,” said Gandalf.

“Cheerio,” said Radagast, and hung up the phone.

That evening, Gandalf’s phone rang again. “Hello?”

“I hear you’ve picked up another stray,” said the sonorous voice on the other end of the line.

“Now, that’s hardly fair,” said Gandalf. “You make it sound like a habit.”

“Radagast says he’s an orphan,” said Saruman.

“He isn’t an orphan,” said Gandalf truthfully.

“You can’t keep taking in orphaned humans,” said Saruman. “You should know by now it never ends well. Remember the incident in Warsaw.”

“That was a long time ago, and he isn’t an orphan,” said Gandalf. “I don’t pry into your personal business and you don’t pry into mine.”

“It’ll end in disaster and you have responsibilities,” said Saruman.

“We have a responsibility to look after them,” said Gandalf.

“Yes, and that responsibility is bigger than whatever human child you’ve collected this time,” said Saruman. “Put him back where you found him.”

“I don’t see how it is,” said Gandalf. “Anyhow, I haven’t collected him. I’m teaching him arithmetic.”

“Well, stop it,” said Saruman. “I don’t care for it.”

“You let Radagast have his pets,” said Gandalf.

“I don’t care for that either,” said Saruman. “I can’t stop him.”

Gandalf put his pipe back in his mouth and considered his next move. “I don’t suppose you know anything about caring for fourteen year olds?”

“You’re an incorrigible nuisance,” said Saruman, and hung up the telephone.

*

“I’m only here because my foster mother said I had to or she’d call social services,” said Pippin by way of a greeting.

“It’s very nice to see you, too,” said Gandalf. “Take off your shoes.”

Pippin grunted in response, but duly took off his shoes. He sat in the kitchen with his grubby schoolbag on his lap, watching Gandalf boil the kettle.

“Tea?” said Gandalf. Pippin shrugged. “I’ll make you a cup.” 

He set two mugs of tea on the table, and between them a selection box of biscuits. “What’s this?” said Pippin.

“You said you didn’t care for my biscuits so I got an assortment,” said Gandalf with a wave of his hand. “Have whatever you like.”

Pippin looked at Gandalf. He looked at the biscuits. He took on a guilty countenance. “You didn’t tell my foster mother about the cigarettes.”

“I said I wouldn’t,” said Gandalf.

“Yeah, but,” said Pippin, “people say all sorts of things and don’t mean them.”

“I’m a wizard of my word,” said Gandalf. “Have some biscuits.”

Pippin took five, and Gandalf busied himself with his books. “Here,” he said, setting them down. “And here.” From a shoebox, he upended the assortment of items he had collected.

“What’s this?” said Pippin, picking up a handful of rubber hands.

“Some things to keep your hands busy,” said Gandalf. “You seem restless.”

Pippin put down the rubber bands and picked up a stress ball in the shape of a dog. “Why do you have this?”

“I’ve no idea,” said Gandalf. “Things accumulate.”

Pippin turned the dog over in his hands. “You’re so weird.”

“Make up your mind and choose something and we’ll do some arithmetic,” said Gandalf.

“But I’m _bad_ at that,” said Pippin.

“Making your mind up?” said Gandalf. “Or arithmetic?”

“Both,” said Pippin. He put down the dog and picked up a Rubik’s cube. “Why do you have _this_?”

“They’re a curious diversion,” said Gandalf. “Do you know how to solve one?”

“Take it apart and put it back together again,” said Pippin.

“Ah,” said Gandalf. “Cutting the Gordian Knot, so to speak.”

“The what now?” said Pippin.

“Later,” said Gandalf, opening the maths book.

“Your books are all really old,” said Pippin, toying with the cube.

“That’s because I’m as old as the universe,” Gandalf told him. “So I’ve had most of my things for a very long time.”

“What about the squishy dog?” said Pippin. “Is the squishy dog as old as the universe? I guess technically everything’s as old as the universe.”

“Oh?” said Gandalf. “How do you figure that?”

“We’re all just atoms,” said Pippin. “And they’ve been around forever. So, I’m as old as the universe too.” He beamed.

“So you are,” said Gandalf. “Maths?”

“What about it?” said Pippin.

“We’re supposed to be studying it,” said Gandalf.

“Oh, yeah,” said Pippin, twisting the cube. “Because you’re my fake tutor.”

“I’m not a fake tutor,” said Gandalf.

“Yes, you are,” said Pippin. “No-one’s paying you.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m a fake tutor,” said Gandalf. “I fully intend to tutor you.”

“In maths?” said Pippin. “Can’t I just learn my times tables? I can do that on my own.”

“Do you want to know what I think?” said Gandalf.

“No, but I have this feeling you’re going to tell me what you think regardless,” said Pippin, his eyes on the cube, toying with it.

“I think you’re scared of applying yourself,” said Gandalf.

“Scared?” said Pippin. “ _Please_. I’m not afraid of anything.” He twisted the Rubik’s cube. “Except clowns.”

“Clowns?” Gandalf echoed. “Why on earth are you afraid of clowns?”

“Everyone’s afraid of clowns,” said Pippin.

“I doubt that very much,” said Gandalf. “I like a good clown, myself.”

Pippin gave him a hard look. “I want you to know, I already didn’t trust you, but now I _double_ don’t trust you.”

“Be that as it may,” said Gandalf. “We’re going to do some arithmetic.”

“Only if I can keep the cube,” said Pippin.

“Of course,” said Gandalf, leafing through the textbook. “That’s what it’s for.”

“I mean keep-keep,” said Pippin. “Like, to take away.”

“Only if you bring it back when you have lessons,” said Gandalf. “Otherwise, if you want it it’s yours.”

“Oh,” said Pippin. He considered that. “Neat.”

*

“Did you do your homework?” said Gandalf as Pippin settled himself at the kitchen table.

“Oh, um,” he said. “I tried to. I mean, I was going to. I mean. Alright, look, I completely forgot about it.” He shrugged, sheepish, as if to say _what are you going to do about it._

“Have you tried writing these things down?” said Gandalf.

“Well, duh,” said Pippin. “I just forget where I wrote them. Do I get biscuits this week even though I didn’t do the homework? Also, let’s be reasonable. It wasn’t fair of you to set homework considering I already have actual homework from my actual teachers at my actual school and I did do _some_ of that. Well, I mean. I did my art homework. More or less.”

“Does your foster mother not make you do it?” said Gandalf.

“She says, _Peregrin, have you done your homework_ and I say _yeah_ and she says _go to bed, then_.” Pippin shrugged.

“Well, perhaps we’d best –” Before Gandalf could go on, the telephone let out its piercing ring. “Excuse me.”

“You have a phone?” he heard Pippin say as he left the room.

The call was, as he had expected, order business. He rarely got telephone calls about anything else, but he lived in hope.

“Yes,” he said gravely, a few minutes later. He didn’t think Radagast heard him through his own ramblings. “Yes, I see.”

“Your phone isn’t connected to anything,” said Pippin in mock-whisper from the kitchen doorway. Gandalf gestured for him to go back to the table. “What’s up with that?”

“Excuse me,” Gandalf said to Radagast, and covered the receiver. To Pippin he said, “this might take some time. Go and entertain yourself.”

“Shall I go do my homework?” said Pippin. “Please don’t say yes.”

“Go to the drawing room,” said Gandalf.

“Which one’s that?” said Pippin.

“Hush,” said Gandalf, re-joining the conversation which had continued one-sided in his absence. “Yes, of course I’m listening.”

Pippin found his way into the drawing room, and out again. “How am I supposed to entertain myself when you don’t even have a TV?”

“Read a book,” said Gandalf. “Quietly!” he said as Pippin rolled his eyes, and vanished.

“Quietly what?” said Radagast, sounding hurt.

“No – no, I wasn’t talking to you,” said Gandalf. “I have my – student, here this evening.”

“Ah, the human child?” said Radagast.

“Yes, the human child,” said Gandalf.

“Did you try warm milk?”

“No, I don’t think we’re at that stage yet,” said Gandalf. “Don’t let me get you off track.”

“Ah, yes,” said Radagast, and he began again.

When Gandalf at last extricated himself from the conversation, forty-five minutes later, it was almost time to send Pippin home. He went into the drawing room, where Pippin was lying on his settee, staring at an atlas. “This is really out of date,” he remarked.

“Well, they will keep moving borders, won’t they?” said Gandalf.

Pippin tilted back his head and looked at Gandalf over the arm of the sofa. “Did you just call me _the human child_?” he said.

“What if I did?” said Gandalf.

“That’s really weird,” said Pippin.

“Not at all,” said Gandalf. “Wizards aren’t human.”

“What, are you saying you’re like an alien or something?” Pippin reflected on that notion. “I’d believe it.”

“I’m not an alien,” said Gandalf. “I’m an urban hermit. Sit properly.”

Pippin rolled his eyes, but duly swung his legs off the sofa. “Wizards are so human,” he said. “I’ve read Harry Potter.”

“Who is he?” said Gandalf.

“Are you serious?” said Pippin.

“Always,” said Gandalf.

“Do you live under a rock?” said Pippin.

“No, I live in this house,” said Gandalf. “I don’t go out unless I have to.”

“Really,” said Pippin. “I’d never have guessed.”

Gandalf gave him a hard look. “As I was saying,” he said, “perhaps it’s best we don’t set homework.”

Pippin’s face lit up. “Really?” he said. “I take it all back. You’re the best tutor.”

“Now, let’s work on your arithmetic,” said Gandalf.

And so they did, until glancing at the clock he saw it was ten minutes past six, and Pippin ought to have gone home. “I think that’ll do for today,” he said.

“Oh,” said Pippin. He fiddled with the Rubik’s cube. “Do you mind if I have another look at your weirdo atlas? It’s interesting.”

“If you like,” said Gandalf. “Although I do have books with stories in them, which you might find more interesting.”

“That’s fine too,” said Pippin absently.

Gandalf shut the text book, and drummed his fingers on it. “Are you making excuses so as not to go home?” he said.

Pippin glanced at the clock. “No. Why would I do that?”

“Now, Pippin,” said Gandalf.

“Fine.” With an air of resignation Pippin reached for his schoolbag. “I’ll go.”

“You don’t have to leave,” said Gandalf. “It’s only that your foster-mother will be expecting you back for dinner.”

“I suppose.” Pippin dumped his bag on the kitchen table and fiddled with the zip.

“Has she,” Gandalf wondered how best to ask, “done something to upset you?”

Pippin shrugged. “No. I just don’t like her house. It has a weird soapy smell and the bed makes rattly noises.” He looked at Gandalf and said hopefully, “half past six?”

“Did you tell social services she locked you outside in the rain?” said Gandalf.

“It wasn’t raining when she locked me out and it was my fault,” said Pippin. “I shouldn’t have called her a cow.”

“She should have had the decorum not to lock a child out of her house,” said Gandalf.

Pippin’s hands froze on the strap of his bag. “I’m not a child.”

“Yes, you are,” said Gandalf.

“I’m fourteen,” said Pippin.

“Did you tell social services?” said Gandalf.

“No,” said Pippin.

“Should I?” said Gandalf.

“No!” said Pippin, scandalised. “ _God_. Mind your own business.” He went back to toying with his bag. “It’s fine. I’m fine.” He began to twist the strap of his bag. “Beats group home.”

Gandalf elected not to comment. It wasn’t his place, after all. If Pippin had made up his mind to handle his own problems, he shouldn’t interfere.

He said, “have you given any thought to what you’re going to do after school?”

“You mean after leaving school?” said Pippin. “I haven’t given any thought to what I’m going to do next _week_. Jesus.”

“Hm,” said Gandalf. “Well, you’re welcome to stay and read a book.” Pippin didn’t answer. “And if you’d like to borrow any you can come back any time.”

Pippin looked up. “Thanks,” he said. “I will.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Are you a larp group?” said Pippin._
> 
> _“Are we a what?” said Gandalf._
> 
> _“A LARP group,” Pippin repeated, which didn’t help matters in the slightest._
> 
> _“I don’t know what a LARP is,” said Gandalf._
> 
> _“Live action roleplay,” said Pippin. “You know, like D and D but you get dressed up and throw things at each other or something.”_

Saruman abhorred the company of mortals; he considered their duty – which he took with the utmost seriousness – to be bigger than any one person. He would defend humanity with everything he had. Individual humans he regarded with distaste and disinterest.

Radagast found humans a conundrum; too simple too communicate with on equal terms, and yet too complicated to fully understand. He was more comfortable with his animals.

Gandalf had had many mortal friends over the years. He friendships all ended the same way, sooner or later. He would stand by a graveside and say _never again_ , and then he would do it again. It amazed him, how after so many centuries they could still have something new to offer the world. They could find new ideas. They could be surprising, and vibrant, and wholly original.

He had always been fond of children. He had raised one or two, in his time. Gone now.

He purchased a television and spent an afternoon scolding it until it functioned. He telephoned social services, to update them as to Pippin’s current progress in mathematics, and through a few tactful questions established they were content with his current foster placement.

He said to Pippin, “shall we go for a walk?”

“I thought you were supposed to be teaching me maths?” said Pippin as he struggled up the steep road.

“Nature is full of maths,” said Gandalf.

“We aren’t in nature,” said Pippin. “We’re in the suburbs. And it looks like rain.”

“That’s why I brought this,” said Gandalf, and tapped his umbrella on the ground.

He led Pippin up the hill, which was at times uncomfortably steep, to the old church. You got a good view of the city from there, or a portion of it. Pippin stood puffing and looking down at the houses, and said, “you should go out more. You’d smell less funky that way.”

“I don’t smell funky,” said Gandalf.

“You smell like that pipe you’re always smoking,” said Pippin.

“That’s because I’m always smoking it,” said Gandalf.

“Ew,” said Pippin.

“Shall we have a look?” said Gandalf.

“At the church?” said Pippin.

“Why not?”

Pippin gave him a dubious look. “Are you a Jesus freak?” he said. “Has this whole thing been a long game plan to convert me? Because like, a number of youth pastors have already tried it –”

“I’m a history freak,” said Gandalf. “On account of having lived it.”

“Never call yourself that again,” said Pippin, but he consented to go into the church, where he stood looking small and hunched amidst the grey stone columns.

Gandalf breathed in the smell of the place, the stone and the old, old wood of the pews. He thought back to when it was new. He thought of the people who had sung there, back when would sing hymns to whatever tune they pleased.

“I’m bored,” Pippin said after a moment.

“It’s been thirty seconds,” Gandalf whispered back.

“It doesn’t even have any stained glass,” said Pippin.

“I didn’t bring you here to look at stained glass,” said Gandalf. “I’d like to show you something, if I may.”

“Alright,” said Pippin. “But if it’s Jesus, I’m leaving.”

“Over here,” said Gandalf, and led him through the church to the other door, and from there to the graveyard.

The sky was grey, and in the few minutes they’d been inside the church it had begun to spit with rain. Pippin was sulky, but not demoralised. “This way,” said Gandalf, and they went past the newer graves, with their flowers and sharp edges, to the old ones, the ones like broken teeth and stumps.

To one grave in particular, the name so worn it could no longer be read. He didn’t need to read it. He remembered. He thought back to those days when he’d stood in this graveyard, by a different grave, a hand in his.

Pippin looked at the gravestone. He looked at Gandalf. “What about it?” he said. “This is starting to give me the creeps.”

“I like to come here sometimes,” said Gandalf. “To visit an old friend.” He nodded at the stone.

Pippin looked again at the stone. He said, “what?”

“I knew her,” said Gandalf. “A long time ago.”

“What?” said Pippin. “Because you’re immortal?”

“Quite,” said Gandalf. He touched the stone. It was blotched white with lichen.

“You know, sometimes you seem to be taking that stuff really seriously and it gets weird,” said Pippin.

Gandalf sighed inwardly. This was always going to be a struggle. Pippin was a bad age for it; old enough to be incredulous and young enough to be insecure. He’d have to try again another time.

He said, “would you like some hot cocoa? I know a place.”

*

“I’m painfully aware that it should have been noticed sooner, Saruman,” said Gandalf. “But I think you’ll find it’s your own jurisdiction.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m the only one responsible for monitoring the situation!” said Saruman.

“I was monitoring the situation,” said Gandalf. “Forgive me for assuming you had it under control.”

“I _did_ have it under control!” said Saruman. “I –”

The crisis, such as it was, had begun the previous afternoon. In fact it had started about three and a half centuries prior, but as of the previous afternoon it had gone from a one-wizard problem to a three-wizard problem. So there they sat, in Gandalf’s dining room, their heads together, figuratively speaking.

“We didn’t call this meeting to assign blame,” said Gandalf. “We called it to put our heads together and think of a way to repair the seal. Now –”

The doorbell rang.

“That will be Radagast,” said Gandalf.

Saruman sat back in his dining chair and resolutely did not move. “It’s your house,” he said.

Before Gandalf had even reached the doorway, the bell rang again. “Oh, do calm down,” he said aloud as he approached, and as if in response the bell rang a third time. “For pity’s sake!”

Standing on the doorstep, looking a touch bedraggled, was Pippin. He had evidently walked there in the rain. As best as Gandalf could tell he didn’t own a raincoat, or an umbrella, or any sensible shoes, for that matter.

Gandalf stared down at him, baffled. “What are you doing here?”

Pippin looked nonplussed. “It’s Tuesday?”

Was it? So it was. “Good grief,” moaned Gandalf. “I forgot.”

“You’re a terrible fake tutor,” said Pippin, and made a move to come in.

Gandalf stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “I’m terribly busy tonight,” he said. “I shall see you next week instead, probably. Good evening.”

Pippin looked down the hill at the house next door. “I can’t go home.”

“Yes, you can,” said Gandalf.

“No, I really can’t,” said Pippin. “My foster mother’s out at work till late and I don’t have a key to her house.” Gandalf stared at him. “I guess I’ll just go and sit in the rain again,” Pippin said with a melancholy sigh.

“Why don’t you have a key?” said Gandalf.

“I left it in my trouser pocket,” said Pippin. “I think it might be in the washing machine now.”

“Ridiculous child,” said Gandalf. “You’d best come in. _Quietly_ ,” he added.

“What are you busy?” said Pippin as he was ushered in, not very quietly at all.

“Take off your shoes,” said Gandalf. Pippin did so. “Never you mind. Go to the drawing room and occupy yourself for a while.”

Behind Gandalf the dining room door opened, and tilting his head to see who was there Pippin’s eyes went wide. “Hi?” he said.

“Who is this?” said Saruman.

Gandalf took Pippin by the shoulder. “This is Pippin – the boy I told you about.”

“Ah,” said Saruman. “The human child.” 

Pippin mouthed _human child_. Gandalf pretended he hadn’t noticed.

“Pippin, this is Saruman,” said Gandalf. “He’s a wizard. We’re having a very important meeting.”

“Oh, like a magic circle thing?” said Pippin.

“No – no, not like that,” said Gandalf.

“Why is he here?” said Saruman.

“He’s locked out of his house,” said Gandalf. “He doesn’t have anywhere else to go.”

“I’m an orphan,” Pippin added unhelpfully.

“Be quiet, Pippin,” said Gandalf. To Saruman he said, “he’ll stay in the drawing room. He’ll be no trouble.”

“This is precisely why I counselled you against,” Saruman gestured at Pippin, “ _this_.”

Gandalf wasn’t sure that this particular situation had entered into Saruman’s mind for a moment, as it happened, but he didn’t say so. He said, “he just needs somewhere to stay out of the rain until his foster mother comes home.”

“We’ll talk about this later,” said Saruman, and went back into the dining room.

“Wow, you have some _really_ rude friends,” Pippin whispered loudly before the door was even closed, and Gandalf couldn’t find it in himself to object.

“Go and watch television,” he said, nudging Pippin towards the drawing room.

“You have a television now?” said Pippin. “Can I have a towel?”

“Upstairs,” said Gandalf. “The linen closet is to the right. And please do be quiet. Saruman can be very difficult when he’s angry and he doesn’t care for children.”

“Good thing I’m fourteen, then,” said Pippin.

“Off with you,” said Gandalf, ushering him up the stairs. “Shoo.”

Pippin rolled his eyes theatrically but went upstairs, entirely oblivious to the gravity of what he had stumbled on; and Gandalf went back to the dining room to a discussion that was cut short again short minutes later when Radagast finally arrived.

They were in the hall, Radagast shrugging off his wet coat, when the drawing room door opened and Pippin poked his head out. At the sight of Radagast his eyes went wide.

Gandalf gestured for him to close the door, and succeeded only in drawing Radagast’s attention to him. “Who’s this?” he said.

“This is Pippin,” said Gandalf. “The boy I’m tutoring. He’s here because he’s locked out of his house.”

“Ah, the human child.” Radagast reached into one of the deep pockets of his shed coat and produced a small rat.

“Wow,” said Pippin. “That’s really gross.”

“Rats are cleaner than humans, I’ll have you know,” said Radagast. “Would you like to hold him? Keep you company.”

“I’m alright, thanks,” said Pippin, and with a shrug and a ‘ _suit yourself_ ’ Radagast hung up his coat and ambled into the dining room. “Why do your friends keep calling me a human child?”

“Because that’s what you are,” said Gandalf.

“I came out to tell you that your television’s not connected to anything,” said Pippin.

“Does it work?” said Gandalf.

“Yeah,” said Pippin.

“Then what’s the problem?” said Gandalf.

“ _How_ is it working?” said Pippin.

“By magic,” said Gandalf. “Mind your own business.”

“No,” said Pippin. “Also I’m hungry.”

“Oh, good grief,” said Gandalf, and going to the kitchen he fetched the entire tub of biscuits. “Is that everything?”

Pippin clutched the biscuits to his chest. “Television, human child, hungry, I think that was it,” he said. “You have a lot of TV channels for someone whose TV isn’t connected to anything.

“Do I?” said Gandalf.

“Did you get the TV just for me?” said Pippin.

“Of course not,” said Gandalf. “I wanted to watch the news.”

“Right,” said Pippin. “How’s the magic circle meeting going?”

“It’s not a magic circle meeting,” said Gandalf. “We’re discussing how to avert the end of the world.”

“Ohh,” said Pippin. “I get it now. Is this some kind of, hippy environmentalist thing? That makes sense.”

Well, Gandalf decided, he would take that over _magic circle_. “Yes,” he said. “That’s exactly what it is. Now go and watch television.”

*

The rain continued to pour down. Thunder rolled on the horizon. In the dining room, they drank their way through several pots of tea discussing the matter of the broken seal. Radagast tabled a possible solution. It was rejected on the grounds that it wouldn’t work, and they moved onto another, and another.

The telephone ringing was at once an unwelcome distraction and a blessed relief. It was only as he went to answer it that Gandalf noticed it was dark outside, and Pippin’s shoes were still on the floor by his clock.

“Hello?” he said.

“Evening,” said the woman on the other end of the line. “Is Peregrin still there?”

“Yes, he’s here,” said Gandalf.

“Could you send him home, please?” said Pippin’s foster mother. “His dinner’s gone cold.”

“I’ll fetch him,” said Gandalf. “Hang on.”

In the drawing room, the light was low and the television was on, playing something with liberal amounts of canned laughter. “Pippin,” said Gandalf. “It’s your foster mother on the phone.”

“Mm?” said Pippin. Gandalf stepped fully into the room. He was lying on the sofa, curled up, fast asleep.

“Ah.” Stepping closer Gandalf put his hand on Pippin’s shoulder and contemplated shaking it. He did look so peaceful.

Stepping away, he went upstairs and came back with a blanket. Carefully, so as not to wake him, he tucked it around Pippin. He ran a hand over his hair.

He went back to the phone. “Would you mind awfully if he stayed a mite longer?” he said. “It’s very wet out.”

“He can stay as long as he wants,” said Pippin’s foster mother. “Tell him I won’t wait up and I’ll put the spare key under the mat.”

“Thank you,” said Gandalf. “I shall –” _Click_. He looked at the silent receiver. “Frightfully rude woman,” he said to himself.

He shut the drawing room door and went back to the discussions.

*

In his kitchen, Gandalf made a cup of coffee and filled his pipe. He sat at the table, watching the pipe smoke curl up to the ceiling. It had been a very long night. And now at last the seal was repaired – or would be, soon – and he had his house to himself again.

When he had collected his thoughts, he busied himself a little longer in the kitchen, and went with two mugs into the drawing room. The curtains were open and the room was grey-blue in the dawn. Outside the rain had slowed to a dribble. Pippin lay on the sofa, tangled in the blanket, still asleep.

Gandalf put the mugs on the coffee table and gave him a shake. “Pippin.”

“Mmph?” said Pippin without opening his eyes.

“Wake up, now,” said Gandalf.

Pippin opened an eye. He opened both eyes, and raising his muzzy head he took in his surroundings with at first confusion and then resignation. “Oh.” He looked up at Gandalf. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“No matter,” said Gandalf. “I brought you some warm milk.”

“Thanks,” said Pippin. He sat cross-legged on the sofa, still draped in the blanket, and sipped it.

“I’m sure you’ll be pleased to hear,” said Gandalf, “that the world is no longer ending.”

“You solved climate change?” Pippin sipped his milk.

“Not exactly,” said Gandalf.

“Well, get on with it,” said Pippin.

“We don’t,” said Gandalf, settling into his armchair, “meddle in human affairs more than we have to.”

“There you go again with _wizards aren’t human_ ,” said Pippin. “What time is it?”

“Very early, or very late,” said Gandalf. “It’s all a matter of perspective.”

“I suppose I should go back.” Pippin drew the blanket tighter around his shoulders and sipped his milk.

“When you feel like it,” said Gandalf. “Is today a school day?”

“It’s a Wednesday,” said Pippin. “So, yeah. I don’t want to go.”

“Regrettably you have to,” said Gandalf. “Goodness me. I like my fellow wizards but they’re very taxing company. At least Radagast has a sense of humour.”

“Which one is Radagast?” said Pippin. “Is he the scary one or the funky smelling one?”

“The funky smelling one,” said Gandalf. “And don’t call him the funky smelling one.”

“But he smells even funkier than you,” said Pippin.

“I don’t smell funky,” said Gandalf curtly.

“I never said it was a bad thing,” said Pippin. “Why does he carry rats around?”

“He enjoys their company,” said Gandalf.

“He’s weird,” said Pippin. “I like him.”

“So do I,” said Gandalf.

Pippin set his mug down on the coffee table and shrugged off his blanket. “My foster mother’s going to be so pissed,” he said.

“I told her where you are,” said Gandalf. “Don’t worry.”

“She might still be pissed.” Pippin stretched. “Does this mean I don’t have to do extra maths this week?”

“Yes,” said Gandalf. “I won’t have the energy to tutor you again until next Tuesday at the earliest.”

“You’re a great fake tutor,” said Pippin. “Bye, then. I’ll see you on Tuesday.”

“If the world hasn’t ended by then,” said Gandalf.

Pippin paused on his way to the door. “Sure,” he said. “If the world hasn’t ended.”

*

It had been a long time since Gandalf had set foot in a bookshop. He had always felt he had all the books he needed, which was to say a lot; and most of the books that were relevant to his particular specialism had been written hundreds or thousands of years ago so new releases were of little interest.

And yet that grey Sunday morning found him in a bookshop which was far larger and louder and more cheerful than seemed appropriate, looking over a dizzying array of books on a subject he hadn’t approached in – a very long time.

“Need any help?” A saleswoman appeared perkily at his elbow.

“Ah.” Gandalf clutched his hat, which he had politely taken off, a little tighter. “Perhaps.”

“What sort of book were you looking for?” she said.

There was no sense, he decided, in not being honest, even as a faintly embarrassed part of him wanted to retreat.

He said, “I’m thinking of fostering. I don’t suppose you have any –”

“Just round here, sir,” she said, leading him around a corner to a different display. She picked up a book and said, “do you have any children of your own?”

“I did,” said Gandalf. “A long time ago. Yes.” Her eyes roamed up and down him as if to say, _well, I guessed as much_. They had been adopted, but it would take far too long to explain that. “I don’t know very much about the foster system.”

The saleswoman put down the book she was holding a picked up another. “This is a good introduction,” she said. “Some of the information in it might be a bit out of date, but –”

“I’ll take it,” said Gandalf. “I’m, I’m sure it’s a fine starting point.”

“Great!” said the saleswoman. “I’ll ring you up.”

At home, he sat down with a cup of tea and began diligently to read it.

*

“You know,” Pippin remarked, “I’ve never been on a train before.”

“I have.” Gandalf looked around himself. “I recall there being a lot less computer screens.”

They stood in the station concourse, Gandalf tried to make sense of the departure board, Pippin gazing about himself at the intriguing features of the station. “Can I get crisps?” he said.

“You’ll spoil your lunch,” said Gandalf.

“When’s lunch?” said Pippin.

“At the museum,” said Gandalf.

“But that’s _hours_ ,” said Pippin. “I’m hungry now.”

“Hush, you,” said Gandalf, and shepherded him to the ticket office for a confusing conversation about the difference between peak and off-peak trains.

The clerk tapped at her till and said, “is your grandson sixteen?”

“Ah, he’s –” said Gandalf.

Pippin stood on his tiptoes so as to be properly seen over the counter and said, “he’s not my grandfather. He’s my kidnapper. He’s kidnapping me.”

Gandalf laughed, and said, “he’s fourteen.”

“He tells people he’s my maths tutor but he’s not actually,” said Pippin. “I’m being kidnapped. Help.”

The clerk was starting to look concerned, or at least irritated. “Pippin,” said Gandalf in warning tones.

“He lied to the government,” said Pippin.

“Pippin, do you want to go to the museum or not?” said Gandalf.

Pippin shot him a look which said _I absolutely do not_. But he sighed, and said, “he’s my maths tutor. We’re going to the natural history museum.”

“I don’t care,” said the clerk. “Are you sixteen?”

“I’m as old as time,” said Pippin.

The clerk looked to Gandalf. “He’s fourteen,” said Gandalf. “As I said.”

The clerk punched some more buttons and then through some process of digital alchemy produced their tickets, together with stern instructions as to what services they could be used on. They boarded the train without much fuss, and found seats which were far less comfortable and more cramped than Gandalf remembered.

Pippin sat, as the train pulled out of the station, on the edge of his seat, gazing out the window as if expecting something to happen. The train built up speed, and he looked all around himself as he had in the station, looking at the view as it rolled and then rushed by.

At length, he slumped back in his seat. “Actually, never mind,” he said. “Trains are boring and I hate them. How long do I have to sit here?”

“An hour,” said Gandalf.

“ _Ugh_ ,” said Pippin.

Gandalf dug into his pocket and produced the Rubik’s cube. “Here,” he said.

“Oooh.” Pippin grabbed it. “Am I going to learn much maths,” he said, twisting the cube, “at the natural history museum?”

“There’s maths in everything, if you know how to look for it,” said Gandalf.

“I’ll take your word for it,” said Pippin, still twisting the cube. “Look!” he said, holding it up, the squares arranged in a checkerboard pattern.

“Very novel,” said Gandalf.

“But seriously, why the natural history museum?” said Pippin. “Social services are going to think it’s weird.”

“So?” said Gandalf.

“So you’re going to get in trouble,” said Pippin. “For lying to social services.”

“I’m quite sure they won’t mind,” said Gandalf. “They’ll probably think that you could do with a day out and you’ll like the museum very much.”

“Is that so?” said Pippin, intent on scrambling the cube again.

“It’s got lots of old things in it,” said Gandalf.

“Like you?” said Pippin.

“Yes, very like me,” said Gandalf.

“If you’re as old as time does that mean you, like,” said Pippin, “were around with the dinosaurs?”

“No, not exactly,” said Gandalf. “I’m as old as time but I didn’t come to earth until far more recently than that.”

“Okay,” said Pippin. “So where were you before? Another planet?”

“Another place,” said Gandalf.

“So another planet,” said Pippin.

“More like another plane of existence,” said Gandalf.

“Is it nice there?” said Pippin.

“Heavenly,” said Gandalf. “I miss it very much. But earth has its charms.”

“You’re so weird,” said Pippin. “Solved it.” He held up the cube.”

“Properly this time?” said Gandalf. “Very good.”

“So why’d you come to earth?” said Pippin. “If this other plane was so great.”

“That’s a big question,” said Gandalf. “I suppose you might say I’m here to act as a guardian.”

“Against what?” said Pippin.

“Hm?” said Gandalf.

“Guarding earth against what?” said Pippin.

“All sorts of things,” said Gandalf.

“Such as?” said Pippin.

“Frightful things,” said Gandalf. “They’d give you nightmares.”

“Try me,” said Pippin. “I don’t get nightmares easily.”

“Some other time, maybe,” said Gandalf.

He wondered if perhaps Pippin hadn’t made up his mind yet, whether to believe him or not. Most people by now would have either concluded that he was – possibly – telling the truth, or decided that he was a lunatic and resolved to avoid him.

“Things like the end of the world?” said Pippin.

“Very like that,” said Gandalf.

“I notice that we do in fact still have climate change,” said Pippin. “You lied to me.”

“I –” Gandalf was about to say _I did no such thing_ , but now that he thought of it he had, rather. “I suppose I did. I do apologise. We saved the world from a different calamity.”

“What sort of calamity?” said Pippin.

“One that would take too long to explain,” said Gandalf. “Have a look at the view.” Pippin glanced out the window, and then looked longer at the river below.

“That’s pretty nice,” he said, settling back into his seat.

They arrived at their destination and Gandalf shepherded Pippin through the ceaseless distractions of the train station onto the street, and then onto a bus that was even more cramped than the train.

“Listen,” said Pippin as they disembarked, seemingly unimpressed by the elegant façade of the museum. “Can we get lunch _before_ we look at the old things? I’m starving.”

“It’s barely twelve,” said Gandalf.

“So, it’s lunchtime,” said Pippin. “I’m growing. I’m a growing boy.”

He had the sensation sometimes that Pippin was testing his limits. He wanted to see how much he could get away with, and could not make up his mind if Gandalf was someone who would let him get away with a lot or not.

“Very well,” said Gandalf. “But I expect you to be especially attentive in the museum.”

“Of course,” said Pippin. 

They went to the café in the museum basement, which sold absurdly large sandwiches, and Pippin dug into his happily.

“How’s your foster mother?” said Gandalf.

“She’s fine,” said Pippin with his mouth full.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” said Gandalf.

Pippin swallowed and said, “she’s fine.”

“I heard you,” said Gandalf.

“Then why do you care?” Pippin pulled some of the lettuce out of his sandwich. “She’s the same as she always is.”

“Are you two getting along?” said Gandalf. Pippin shrugged. “Does that mean no?”

“I’m on my best behaviour,” said Pippin. “I don’t want to get moved on again.”

“That’s not what I asked,” said Gandalf.

“We haven’t fallen out again,” said Pippin, continuing to tug the lettuce from his sandwich and drop it onto his plate. “I don’t like her. I don’t think she likes me either. I’m difficult to handle.”

“I wouldn’t say so,” said Gandalf.

“Everybody else says so,” said Pippin. “Well, she keeps saying you’ve been a good influence on me, anyway.”

“Really?” said Gandalf. “My. I don’t think I’ve ever been called a good influence before.”

“I was surprised too as I did not think she liked you very much,” said Pippin.

“She doesn’t know me,” said Gandalf.

“She’s met you,” said Pippin. “That’s enough to not like you. She was like, really pissed off after the brick thing.”

“With me?” said Gandalf, puzzled.

“She’d rather you hadn’t told her,” said Pippin. “That way she wouldn’t have had to do anything about it.”

Gandalf said, “hm.”

“She’s not a bad foster mum,” Pippin assured him. “I’m just _really_ exhausting.”

“Is that so?” said Gandalf.

“Can we _please_ go and look at the old things now?” said Pippin.

“Finish your sandwich,” said Gandalf.

Pippin took a bite, and chewed, and swallowed. He said, “she’s not a very warm person, and we aren’t family. Other than that she’s fine.” He took another bite and said with his mouth full, “it beats group home.”

“You’re very afraid of going back there, aren’t you?” said Gandalf.

“I’m not afraid,” said Pippin. “I mean – yeah, a bit. I mean. Will you just let me eat my sandwich without the interrogation? Please?”

“I just wanted to make sure everything was alright at home,” said Gandalf.

“It’s not home, it’s just where I’m staying,” said Pippin.

“She wasn’t upset with you for staying out all night?” said Gandalf.

“No,” said Pippin. “She trusts you or something. You know, because she thinks you’re a real tutor.”

“If you’re going to keep on like that perhaps I won’t tutor you any more,” said Gandalf.

Pippin dropped the piece of rejected lettuce he was holding and said, “no, I – I’ll be good. Stop laughing!”

“You enjoy your maths lessons, then, I take it?” said Gandalf.

“I mean, no,” said Pippin. “But I _was_ having a really nice day with you until you started going on about – stuff.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” said Gandalf. He wondered if anyone had taken Pippin on an outing by himself before. 

Pippin stuffed the rest of his sandwich into his mouth and talked around it. “Mmmprhgh.”

“What was that?” said Gandalf.

Laboriously, Pippin swallowed. “I said, can we do the museum now? I can’t believe I’m saying this but I would really rather go and learn stuff.”

“Of course you would,” said Gandalf. “Yes, we can, and if you behave yourself I’ll get you something in the gift shop afterwards.”

“Fuck yes!” said Pippin, scrambling for his bag. “I _love_ gift shops.”

“Language,” said Gandalf.

“I want a dinosaur,” said Pippin.

“We’ll see,” said Gandalf.

As it happened, Pippin got a dinosaur, and very promptly. A large and imposing tyrannosaurus in the central hall of the museum. Pippin stood beneath it, transfixed, tracing the curve of its skeletal spine with his eyes.

He said, “is he as old as you?”

“How dare you,” said Gandalf. “I’m much older.”

“Cool,” said Pippin, ambling around the t-rex. “Were you two mates?”

“No, of course not,” said Gandalf. “I wasn’t on earth in the age of the dinosaurs.”

“I like that that’s your only issue with being friends with a t-rex,” said Pippin. “Like, otherwise you’d totally have been friends with a big dumb lizard that wanted to eat you.”

“Why wouldn’t I want to be friends with a tyrannosaurus rex?” said Gandalf. “They were fascinating animals.”

“So have you seen one or haven’t you?” said Pippin.

“From a distance, so to speak,” said Gandalf. “I think they’d make very worthy companions and fearsome steeds.

“Good point,” said Pippin, and as they passed through the archway into the first hall he took off running. “What is _that_?”

“That was a whale, once,” said Gandalf, looking at the trailing skeleton suspended from the ceiling.

“It’s creepy,” said Pippin. “It’s like a sea serpent.”

“I was good friends with a whale once upon a time,” said Gandalf.

“Oh?” said Pippin, turning in circles beneath the whale. “What was his name?”

“It was a she,” said Gandalf. “And she didn’t have one, being a whale.”

“Mm-hm,” said Pippin, already tiring of whales. He said, “so your friends, the funky-smelling one and the scary one.”

“Radagast and Saruman, yes,” said Gandalf.

“Are they one-name people like you?” said Pippin.

“Naturally, being wizards,” said Gandalf.

“And are they as old as time?” said Pippin.

“Of course,” said Gandalf. “It’s as I said. We’re wizards.”

Pippin nodded solemnly. He still didn’t believe a word of it. It was only that he had now elected that this was a game they were playing, the two of them. He would come up with ridiculous questions and enjoy listening to Gandalf’s answers, which he presumed to be made up off the top of his head, just as his questions were.

“Are you like a cult?” said Pippin. “Are you trying to get me to join your cult?”

“No, and no,” said Gandalf. “We’re firmly opposed to cults.”

“So you’re just super weird,” said Pippin. “Because cult’s my best guess and if you’re not a cult I don’t know what your deal is. Is that a _real_ dodo?”

“I believe it’s a statue,” said Gandalf. “And I already told you, we’re immortal wizards who defend the earth.”

“Are you a larp group?” said Pippin.

“Are we a what?” said Gandalf. 

“A LARP group,” Pippin repeated, which didn’t help matters in the slightest.

“I don’t know what a LARP is,” said Gandalf.

“Live action roleplay,” said Pippin. “You know, like D and D but you get dressed up and throw things at each other or something.”

“D and D?” said Gandalf.

“Dungeons and dragons,” said Pippin.

“And what is that?” said Gandalf.

“It’s a game where you pretend to be elves and wizards and stuff,” said Pippin.

“Is that so?” said Gandalf. “Well, we aren’t a LARP group. We’re real wizards.”

“That’s good,” said Pippin. “Because to be honest, I would rather you were a cult than a LARP group.”

“I think your priorities may be off,” said Gandalf.

The museum was much as museums always were, which was to say riddled with errors. It fascinated him, to see the various ways humanity interpreted the history of their world, and the way their interpretation changed over the centuries. They were getting closer when it came to dinosaurs. When he remarked as much to Pippin, he told him he was being weird again.

The gift shop, on the other hand, was a new and startling experience, full of toys with lights that flashed and large, glossy books and smaller models of large things you could see in the museum. You could take everything in the museum home with you, in miniature, in pictures.

Gandalf made his own selections, exchanged some polite words with the girl at the counter, and went to look for Pippin. He found him deep in the toy section, inspecting an array of soft plush animals. There was a woolly mammoth, a crude attempt at a sabretooth tiger, an assortment of brightly-coloured dinosaurs. Pippin lingered over the mammoth, and then selected a fuzzy stegosaurus and looked it over, admiring its big eyes and soft plates.

“Do you want it?” said Gandalf.

Pippin started. “Stop sneaking up on me!”

“I didn’t sneak,” said Gandalf. “Do you want it?”

Pippin looked at the dinosaur. He made a move to put it back. He said, “I’m fourteen.”

“So?” said Gandalf.

“I’m too old for toys,” said Pippin.

“Never,” said Gandalf. “If you want it then you should have it.”

“I don’t have any money,” said Pippin.

“I’ll get it for you,” said Gandalf.

Pippin looked again at the stegosaurus, which looked back with unblinking eyes. “You don’t have to do that,” he said.

“Do you promise to treasure it?” said Gandalf.

Pippin stared at him. He hugged the stegosaurus to his chest. “Yes,” he confessed.

“Then I’ll buy it for you.” Gandalf squeezed his shoulder. “Come on.”

He purchased the dinosaur, which was excessively expensive, and together they exited the museum, stegosaurus clutched to Pippin’s chest. 

They went back to the train station, which was thankfully less busy at that time of day. He bought himself a coffee and Pippin a hot cocoa, and they settled down to wait. “How long until the train?” said Pippin.

“About half an hour,” said Gandalf. He fished around in his shopping bag, and as Pippin opened his mouth to say something along the lines of _what am I meant to do until then_ , handed him another of his purchases. “Here. Keep you busy.”

“Ooh,” said Pippin, inspecting the puzzle. He set his cocoa on the seat beside him and settled down to play with it, trying to get all the balls into their little holes.

“What did you think of the museum?” said Gandalf.

“It was alright,” said Pippin. “I didn’t learn any maths.”

That hadn’t been the point of the excursion at all, of course, but Gandalf didn’t say as much. He said, “well, you never know.”

Someone came by with a heavy suitcase, jostling them and jiggling Pippin’s puzzle. He swore. “Almost had it.”

“Language,” said Gandalf.

“Fuck off,” said Pippin in affectionate tones.

Their train rolled into the station twenty minutes later than scheduled. Gandalf remembered a time when trains had arrived according to their timetable, and when he said as much to Pippin, Pippin scoffed in fond exasperation.

And then they were off home. Pippin sat in the window seat, watching the city go by, its mix of buildings new and classical, the towers of the cathedral, the arches of the bridges. Then he sat back in his seat and fidgeted.

After a while, he began to doze. With a sigh he leaned in towards Gandalf, and Gandalf put an arm around him, drawing him closer. He patted Pippin’s shoulder, and Pippin half-woke, mumbling to himself.

Looking down at him, Gandalf thought _ah – I’ve done it again._

On the street outside their houses a light drizzle was falling. Pippin clambered out of the taxi and stood bouncing on the pavement, unfazed by the water droplets in his hair and on the fur of his plush dinosaur. “Today was good,” he said as the taxi rumbled away. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome,” said Gandalf. “I hope it was educational.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” said Pippin. “Bye, then.” Turning, he started down the hill, but a moment later came back. “I forgot to say,” he said. “Can I skip next Tuesday?”

“Possibly,” said Gandalf. “Possibly. Why?”

Pippin shifted, momentarily guilty – or rather not guilty but embarrassed at having been caught out. “There’s this boy at school,” he said. “He asked me to his birthday party. They’re going bowling. It sounds dumb.”

“A friend?” said Gandalf.

“He’s alright,” said Pippin. “I asked _her_ if I could go and she said I had to ask you because it’s on a Tuesday.”

“You’re more than welcome to, then,” said Gandalf. “Enjoy the bowling.” He wondered what bowling consisted of these days.

“Bowling’s dumb,” Pippin re-iterated. “Bye. See you Tuesday after next.” Turning, he headed home.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _What Pippin wanted – what he couldn’t say that he wanted – was to go home. But he had no home to go to. If things stayed the way they were, he never would._

The door bell rang, and not expecting company Gandalf didn’t look up from his reading. It rang again, this time an extended _brrrrinnnng_ as if someone was holding down the button with considerable force. He smacked his book down upon the table.

Outside it was raining, and on the doorstep stood Pippin, the hood of his sweatshirt drawn up, his arms folded, his hands buried.

“Pippin,” said Gandalf. “What brings you here? It isn’t Tuesday – is it?” He did a mental tally to be sure he hadn’t lost track of the days. No – it was only Thursday.

Pippin said, “they’re sending me back to group home.”

Gandalf said, “ah.” He opened the door fully. “You’d better come in.”

In the kitchen, he made tea, and Pippin sat bedraggled and morose at the table. “Here,” said Gandalf, offering him a mug.

“Thanks.” Pippin warmed his hands on it, but didn’t drink any.

“Do you want to talk?” said Gandalf. Pippin shrugged. “You don’t have to talk,” Gandalf said, and reached for his pipe.

The moment his eyes were turned away Pippin burst out, “it’s not _fair_.”

“No, it isn’t,” Gandalf agreed.

“This is all _your_ fault,” said Pippin. “I mean, you. Why did you –” He wiped a hand across his nose. “I can handle this so long as everywhere sucks the same.” He looked down at his tea. “I don’t want to move again.”

“I know,” said Gandalf.

“I hate group home,” said Pippin.

“I know you do,” said Gandalf.

“I don’t want to go back there again,” said Pippin. “I just. I want.” He scrubbed a hand over his eyes. “I want to.”

Slowly, he slumped down in his chair, and putting his head upon the table began to cry. Gandalf put a hand upon his shoulder and held it there. He said nothing.

What Pippin wanted – what he couldn’t say that he wanted – was to go home. But he had no home to go to. If things stayed the way they were, he never would.

“Pippin,” he said gently. “I know how you feel –”

Raising his head Pippin exclaimed so suddenly and fiercely that Gandalf drew his hand away. “No you _don’t_!” he cried. “You have no idea what I’m feeling! I’m so – _sick_ of people telling me they know how I feel about stuff when they _don’t_!”

“Pippin,” said Gandalf.

“She’s sending me back because she’s sick of having me in her house,” said Pippin. “She didn’t say but that’s what it is. Nobody actually wants me around. They just shove me wherever they can find space for me because I’m a ‘ _problem case_ ’ and I’m difficult and I’m too old to be cute any more, and.” He sucked in a tear-streaked breath. “I used to try so hard to get them to like me. I just kept fucking it up.”

“I like you,” said Gandalf.

“No, you don’t,” said Pippin. “You just feel sorry for me.” He said it so scornfully, as if it was a bad thing, and perhaps it was. “I told everyone at school I’m an orphan,” he said. “I always do. I get so afraid they’ll find out I’m lying.”

“Why?” said Gandalf. “Why lie about it?”

Pippin looked at him over his folded arms. “When I was ten,” he said, “I told some kids my mum didn’t want me and they made fun of me for like two terms.”

“That was cruel of them,” said Gandalf. Pippin turned his face away. “Did you tell someone?” Pippin shrugged. “You should have told somebody.”

“It was ages ago,” said Pippin. “I sort of remember her. I think. I don’t remember what I did.”

“What you did?” said Gandalf.

“To make her not want me any more,” said Pippin.

“You didn’t do anything,” said Gandalf. “You were far too young.”

Pippin sucked in a deep, steadying breath. “I was two,” he said. “That’s old enough to have done something.”

He said it like a confession, or rather an admission of guilt. “Oh, Pippin,” Gandalf said, putting his hand once again upon his shoulder. “That’s not how these things work. I don’t know why your mother gave you up, but it wasn’t your fault. People don’t do that. I’ve known a lot of people. They don’t do that. It doesn’t happen.”

“What would you know about it?” said Pippin.

“I know everything about it,” said Gandalf. “I’m as old as time.”

“Don’t.” Pippin looked down at his mug, and sniffed.

“Don’t what?” said Gandalf.

“You know what,” said Pippin. “I’m not in the mood for stupid jokes.”

“It isn’t a joke,” said Gandalf. “I’m as old as time.”

“Oh my _god_!” Pippin exclaimed, his hands leaving his mug to furiously gesticulate. “Will you shut up! It’s not funny and I’m not in the mood! God!”

“I’m not trying to be funny,” said Gandalf. “I’m a real wizard and I’m as old as time. Look,” he said, and before Pippin could do more than open his mouth to retort, he stretched out his hand palm-up upon the table, and demonstrated.

Bright, pale flames leapt from his fingers, burning yellow-white. They spread soundlessly across his skin as he turned his hand, flowing like liquid, and all the while Pippin watched, his eyes very big, his mouth closed, silent.

“Do you see?” said Gandalf. Pippin’s steady gaze turned upon him. He nodded. “Well, then.” Gandalf closed his hand. The flames died.

It was rare, for him to reveal himself to a human so directly. But he could tell that it was the only way to convince Pippin, and in that moment he had needed to be convinced. Pippin’s eyes hadn’t left his face. The look in them was unreadable. He wasn’t panicking. That was something.

“Would you like some biscuits?” said Gandalf. Pippin said nothing. He shrugged. “I’ll fetch some.” Gandalf patted Pippin on the shoulder and rose to his feet. “I imagine you have questions,” he said as he rooted through the cupboard. There was no response. Pippin’s chair squeaked on the floor. “Though you’ve asked a lot of them already,” Gandalf remarked, mostly to himself. “I don’t know how many are left – you do eat a lot of them.” He pried open the tin and judged the contents adequate. “Would you –”

Glancing over his shoulder he found Pippin’s chair empty, his rucksack gone. The front door slammed shut. 

“Oh, for pity’s sake,” he said, thumping the biscuit tin down upon the worktop and making for the door. 

But in the kitchen doorway he stopped. Pippin was old enough, after all, to know his own mind. He was old enough to know when he needed some space around him – or when he needed to not be around a person.

What he had done could not be undone. There was no putting the genie back in its bottle. That Pippin might not want to see him afterwards hadn’t crossed his mind. 

He had grown too comfortable.

*

The early hours of the morning found him dozing in his study, a book open upon his chest. Sunlight streaming through the open curtains failed to rouse him, though it make a solid effort. He snorted to himself, and turned his head the other way.

Then came the shrill ringing of the telephone. “Oh, good grief,” he said, scrunching his face in displeasure. He levered himself out of his chair. “Yes, yes, I’m coming.”

He muttered and cursed his way down his narrow staircase to where the telephone sat half-buried under unwanted mail. He brushed envelopes aside onto the floor, and answered. “Yes?”

“Is he with you?” said a voice he couldn’t at first place.

“I’m sorry?” he said.

“Did he stay over with you?” she said, and this time Gandalf placed her. It was Pippin’s foster mother and with that realisation her words took on meaning, and a chill passed through him. “I’m sorry,” she said, taking his silence for confusion. “I’m sorry. Is this Mr Gandalf? I’m calling from next door. I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m sorry. Did Peregrin –”

“No,” said Gandalf. “He didn’t.”

Silence, or rather the humming of a quiet line. “He didn’t come in last night,” she said, her voice thick with worry. “I thought he must have gone to your house.”

“He was here,” said Gandalf. “He left. I assumed he’d got home.” He rubbed his brow. “We had a talk, about – the situation. I tried to give him some advice. I’m afraid he left in a temper. I thought he would have gone home. I’m terribly sorry.”

“You could have phoned,” she said.

“I was going to,” said Gandalf. “I –”

“He could be _anywhere_.”

“Have you tried his friends?” said Gandalf.

“He doesn’t have any friends,” she said. A sigh, deep and protracted, down the telephone line, a sigh of distress or simply resignation he wasn’t sure. “I’m calling the police.”

“He told me he was going to a friend’s party this past Tuesday,” said Gandalf.

“He says all sorts of stupid stuff,” she said. “I’m sorry to have bothered you. I’m calling the police.”

“I’ll look for him,” said Gandalf.

“Yeah,” she said. “Right.” The line trilled, and was silent.

Gandalf sat at his kitchen table, and smoked his pipe.

The trouble was, this was not the sort of situation he ought to interfere with. He had been sent to earth to prevent interference by certain malevolent forces that ought not to be there, to keep certain things sealed up in certain other dimensional spaces where they could do no harm. Matters such as missing teenagers the human authorities were entirely equipped to deal with. He ought not be using the abilities he had at his disposal to interfere.

But the trouble on the other hand was that he had already interfered. He had interfered in Pippin’s life and the current situation was the result of that interference. There was no way around it. This was the result of his actions, if not necessarily his _fault_. If he were to interfere again, would he not just be setting right what he’d already put out of place?

He knew very well what Saruman would say, and he knew that, strictly speaking, he ought to abide by Saruman’s advice, being as he was the head of the order. But he was not Saruman. He had his own way of doing things.

He tapped out the ash from his pipe into its dish and set about finding Pippin.

*

The police station was, as police stations ever were, grim, and grey, and unappealing. He introduced himself at the desk and reminded the administrator that they had spoken on the telephone. And he waited, while an officer went into a back room to fetch the prisoner.

The officer’s voice reached his ears, a low, firm rumble he couldn’t make out the words of. Then he heard Pippin. It startled him, what a relief it was to hear the boy’s voice.

“I don’t have a grandfather,” Pippin was saying.

“Stop messing about,” said the officer. “Come on.”

Out shuffled Pippin, clutching his schoolbag to his chest, looking wrung-out and a touch grubby. His face was bruised along one cheekbone, but otherwise he was fine. He looked Gandalf up and down with a sullen air and said, “oh, _that_ grandpa.” He looked up at the police officer. “I forgot.”

The officer gave him a firm nudge forward. “Get going,” he said.

Outside upon the curb, once the relevant paperwork had been completed, Gandalf attempted to hail a taxi.

“How did you find me?” said Pippin.

“Hm?” said Gandalf. A taxi sailed past, its light off.

“I didn’t tell them who I was,” said Pippin.

“Magic,” said Gandalf.

“Seriously?” said Pippin.

“Entirely,” said Gandalf.

“Does anyone know you picked me up?” said Pippin.

A taxi slowed and left the stream of traffic in a graceful arc. “No,” said Gandalf.

“So you’re just like, actually kidnapping me now,” said Pippin. “This is a kidnapping.”

The taxi stopped. Gandalf nodded politely to the driver, and opened the door. “Do you have a problem with that?” he said.

Pippin looked down at his bag, which he still held awkwardly cradled in his arms. “Well,” he said. “I –” He sighed. “I guess not.”

“Get in the taxi,” said Gandalf.

They drove along the road for a few minutes in silence. Pippin looked out the window, his schoolbag on his lap. He fidgeted with the straps.

“Where did you think you were going?” said Gandalf.

“I dunno,” said Pippin. “I was running away.”

“To where?” said Gandalf. Pippin shrugged. “How did you get here?”

“Night bus,” said Pippin.

He wondered how long it might have been before they tracked Pippin down, in a police station in another city – another county – adamantly refusing to tell anyone his name.

“Are you alright?” said Gandalf. Pippin shrugged. “What happened to your face?”

“Nothing,” said Pippin.

“Did they hurt you?” said Gandalf.

Pippin touched his bruised face. “I guess.”

“They shouldn’t have done that,” said Gandalf.

Pippin shrugged.

“I understand you were throwing half bricks at people?” said Gandalf.

Pippin wheeled on him, suddenly furious. “Not at _people_!” he said. “I threw it at the car! God!”

“At the car,” said Gandalf. “I see.”

“Did they say I threw it at them?” said Pippin. “Cause I did _not_. I was aiming at the windscreen. I’m bad at a _lot_ of things but I know how to fucking _aim_.” He wrapped his arms tighter around his rucksack and glowered out the window. “Where are we _going_?”

“Away,” said Gandalf.

“No, I want to know,” said Pippin.

“Somewhere we can talk,” said Gandalf. “Sit tight.”

“Social services are going to be _so_ pissed off with you,” said Pippin.

“We’ll see about that,” said Gandalf.

The café was brightly lit, its metal fixings very shiny. At that time of day it was quiet. Gandalf took a booth by the window, far away from the only other customer, made their orders, and made himself comfortable.

Pippin inspected his sundae. He dipped in his spoon and scooped up some strawberry ice-cream, but didn’t eat it. He said, “this is weird.”

“Is it?” said Gandalf.

“Yeah,” said Pippin.

“How so?” said Gandalf.

“It’s just,” said Pippin. “Usually when you get arrested and picked up from the police station you don’t get taken out for ice cream after.”

“Don’t you?” said Gandalf.

“Stop that,” said Pippin. “Is this a guilt thing? Are you trying to make me feel guilty? Cause if so it’s working.”

“Eat your ice cream before it melts,” said Gandalf, for it was already dripping.

Pippin ate his spoonful. “Why are we having ice cream?”

“Because I thought you might need cheering up,” said Gandalf. “And I want to talk to you in private.”

“About what?” said Pippin, who had now taken on the countenance of a hunted rabbit.

“Do you want to talk about what happened?” said Gandalf.

“No times a million,” said Pippin. He began to eat his ice cream in earnest.

“As I understand it you were throwing stones through the windows of a derelict house,” said Gandalf. “Somebody called the police, they asked you to stop, you put half a brick through the windscreen of their car. Is that about the long and short of it?”

“I guess,” said Pippin.

“I understand you also told them you don’t have a name and you’re as old as time,” said Gandalf.

“Yeah,” said Pippin, smiling a little at the memory.

“You’re a ridiculous individual, you know that?” said Gandalf. “What happened to your face?”

Pippin shrugged.

“Did they hit you?” said Gandalf.

“No,” said Pippin. “They just roughed me about a bit. For real, why did you come get me? Why do they think you’re my grandpa?”

“I told them I was,” said Gandalf. “It seemed expedient. As for why I came to find you, well, I suppose the truth is I felt responsible for what happened and so felt I ought to.”

“ _You_ felt responsible for what happened?” said Pippin.

“Eat your ice cream,” said Gandalf. “It’s melting.” Pippin took the wafer from the top and munched on it. “I frightened you. I’m sorry.”

“I wasn’t frightened,” said Pippin around a mouthful of wafer. It was a shameless lie, but Gandalf let him have it. “So you did like. Real magic to find me?”

“Yes,” said Gandalf.

“And that – thing you did last night,” said Pippin. “That was for real magic?”

“Yes,” said Gandalf.

“Can you do it again?” said Pippin.

“No,” said Gandalf. “We’re in public.”

“Okay,” said Pippin. “And you’re a real wizard and you’re not human and you’re as old as time?”

“All true,” said Gandalf.

Pippin stared at him. “What the fuck?”

“Language,” said Gandalf. He began to fill his pipe.

“No really, what the fuck?” said Pippin. “Also you can’t smoke in here.”

“They can try and stop me if they like,” said Gandalf.

“If you’re not human then what are you?” said Pippin.

“I’m a wizard,” said Gandalf.

“That doesn’t mean anything!” said Pippin. “Are you an alien?”

“No,” said Gandalf.

“Then what the fuck?” said Pippin.

Gandalf put his pipe in his mouth, and puffed on it. “I shall answer any questions you have somewhere less public,” he said. “This isn’t what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Well, I’d like to talk about it,” said Pippin.

“I’d prefer to talk about you at present,” said Gandalf.

“I really want to talk about the wizard thing, though,” said Pippin.

“Why did you do it?” said Gandalf.

“I think you’re an alien,” said Pippin.

“Stop changing the subject,” said Gandalf. “Answer the question.”

Pippin’s shoulders slumped. He stirred his ice cream, now rather slushy. “I dunno,” he said. “I was upset.”

“We’re talked about this,” said Gandalf. “About breaking things when you’re upset.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t learn stuff,” said Pippin. “I’m criminally stupid. Ask anyone.”

“Do you want to know what I think?” said Gandalf.

“See, you wouldn’t say that unless you were going to tell me anyway,” said Pippin.

“I think you were upset and angry about being sent back to group home,” said Gandalf. “So you came to me because you didn’t know who else to go to and what I showed you made you feel as if you’d been lied to. And so you were angry with me, and when you get angry you lash out at whatever you can find.” He set his pipe down upon the table. “I never lied to you about anything.”

“I know,” said Pippin. “I thought you were kidding.”

“I didn’t think how being shown the truth might make you feel, in your current predicament,” said Gandalf.

“Yeah,” said Pippin.

“I’m truly sorry,” said Gandalf.

“Don’t be,” said Pippin. “It’s not you fault I’m such a fuck-up.”

“I don’t think you’re a fuck-up,” said Gandalf. “I don’t think anyone’s ever given you a chance.”

“Please don’t say fuck, it feels wrong,” said Pippin. “And I’ve been given _loads_ of chances. I mess them up.”

“Hm,” said Gandalf. He put his pipe back in his mouth. “I don’t think anyone could function very well, getting uprooted every few months the way you do.”

“What’s your point?” said Pippin.

“My point is, there isn’t anything wrong with you,” said Gandalf. “It’s small wonder you’re struggling. You’re sorely in need of some stability.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t think that’s happening any time soon,” said Pippin. “Did you just bring me out for ice cream so you could tell me my life sucks? Cause I know _that_.”

“No, I brought you here to ask you if you’d like to live with me,” said Gandalf.

Pippin stared at him, his spoon dripping half-melted ice cream. Whatever turns he’d thought this conversation might take, evidently this wasn’t one of them. “Huh?”

“How would you like to come and live with me?” said Gandalf.

“Are you kidnapping me?” said Pippin.

“No, I intend to go through the proper channels,” said Gandalf.

“Are you trying to say you want to foster me?” said Pippin.

“At first,” said Gandalf. “We could see how it goes.”

“Are you,” said Pippin. “Are you saying you want to adopt me?”

“Yes,” said Gandalf plainly. “How would you feel about that?”

Pippin stared at him. He looked helplessly at the counter, where the ice cream vendor was washing their scoop, oblivious to their conversation. He looked back at Gandalf, evidently at a loss for words. There was a touch of panic in his eyes. He had the look about him of a person starving who had been offered a meal and feared it might be snatched away if he touched it.

“You don’t mean that,” he said.

“Yes, I do,” said Gandalf.

“I just mean,” said Pippin. “I don’t think you’ve thought this through.”

“On the contrary,” said Gandalf. “I never do anything without thoroughly thinking it through.”

“I’m a train wreck,” said Pippin. “And I’m fourteen, and you don’t want to live with me. I’m loud and annoying and I never tidy up after myself.”

“I’m sure I’ll cope,” said Gandalf. “Anyway, I never tidy either, so I’m sure we’ll get along splendidly.”

“ _Why_ though?” Pippin persisted.

“I enjoy your company,” said Gandalf. “I think you need a home. I have space. This isn’t my first time, you know.”

“What do you mean?” said Pippin.

“You’re not the first child I’ve raised,” said Gandalf. “I know what I’m doing. Eat your ice cream.”

“I’m in big trouble,” said Pippin.

“I know,” said Gandalf.

“I mean _really_ big,” said Pippin. “This isn’t my first time getting arrested and they were _proper_ pissed off. I’m definitely going to have to go to court this time. And, they were talking about the young offenders institute.”

“What’s your point?” said Gandalf.

“I _really_ don’t think you’ve thought this through,” said Pippin. “What if they put me n prison?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” said Gandalf. “I’m immortal and I’m as old as time. I’m very patient.”

“I’m really worried they’re going to put me in prison, though,” said Pippin.

“Well,” said Gandalf. “Whatever happens now I’m sure we can handle it.”

Pippin’s gaze had softened. His eyes were wet. “We?” he said.

“Yes,” said Gandalf.

“You really mean that?” said Pippin.

“Absolutely,” said Gandalf.

For a long moment Pippin looked at him. Then he pushed his chair back, and rising he rounded the table – and threw his arms around Gandalf.

“Oof!” said Gandalf, laughing, and Pippin let go.

“Sorry,” he said.

“Not at all,” said Gandalf. “Is that a yes?”

“I’ll think about it,” said Pippin. He wiped his eyes.

“As I said,” said Gandalf. “I’m very patient.”

Pippin went back to his seat and dug into his half-melted ice cream with new gusto. “So like,” he said. “You would tell me if you were an alien, right?”

“Naturally,” Gandalf said. “I’m not an alien.”

“Okay,” said Pippin. “Okay, like. Seeing as you have real magic powers is there any chance you could just, make everyone forget about the half a brick broken windscreen thing?”

“No,” said Gandalf.

“Oh, come on!” said Pippin.

“You made a mistake,” said Gandalf. “There’s consequences.”

“You said yourself it was partly your fault this happened,” said Pippin. “Can you at least do something to make sure they don’t put me in prison? I don’t deserve that. Come _on_.”

“We shall see,” said Gandalf. “For now how about you finish your ice cream and I deliver you back to social services.”

Pippin gave him a plaintive look. “You can kidnap me if you want,” he said. “I’ll be a model kidnapping victim.”

“No,” said Gandalf.

“Nobody would ever have to know,” said Pippin.

“Be sensible,” said Gandalf.

“I’m bad at that,” said Pippin.

“Shush,” said Gandalf. “Eat your ice cream and then I shall take you home.”

*

There were a lot of things to do first, of course. There was a lot of discussion to be had with social services and a lot of paperwork, a lot of gentle misdirection and a bit of forgery and a touch of subtle magic to convince them that he was an ordinary human and a good choice of foster parent.

There was the tricky job of making sense of how the school system worked in the twenty-first century, and the medical system, all the things that had moved on and become woefully complicated since he’d last engaged with the human world.

There was clearing out his spare room, and putting in ordinary furniture, and the heated debate over what colour to paint it.

There were the inevitable repercussions.

“Good morning,” he said into the telephone, already confident who was on the other end of the line.

“What’s this about you adopting another one?” said Saruman, skipping the pleasantries. “Why wasn’t I informed?”

“I informed you,” said Gandalf. “I told you months ago. You got very cross, remember?”

“I didn’t think you were serious,” said Saruman. “This is absurd. You have duties.”

“Yes, I do,” Gandalf agreed. “Anyway, I’m very busy and you can’t stop me so I shall get on with it.”

“It’ll all end in tears,” Saruman warned. “You know it will.”

“Almost certainly,” said Gandalf, and hung up the telephone.

Upstairs, the window of the spare bedroom was open, the new curtains shifting in the breeze. Together they hefted the mattress into place – and then with a sigh of contentment Pippin flopped down onto it.

“This is nice,” he remarked.

“You don’t have the covers on yet,” said Gandalf.

“I don’t care,” said Pippin.

“Then you can make it up yourself,” said Gandalf, and dropped the covers, still in their plastic packaging, onto the mattress.

“Fine by me,” said Pippin, in a tone that suggested he had no intention of doing so. The doorbell sounded, a long, frantic ringing as if someone were holding down the button. Pippin sat up. “There’s somebody at the door,” he said in a hushed whisper.

“I’ll go and see who it is,” Gandalf whispered back.

“Hope you don’t mind,” said Radagast as he bustled in. He was dishevelled as ever and clutching, if Gandalf wasn’t very much mistaken, a ferret. “I’d call ahead but I can’t find my telephone – need my bestiary back – ah, the human child,” he said, seeing Pippin coming down the stairs.

“Yes,” Pippin agreed. “I’m fourteen, though.”

“Yes – quite,” said Radagast. Juggling the ferret, he reached into his pocket. “Should have – ah, here we go.” He deposited a fistful of acorns into Pippin’s outstretched hand. “For you.”

“Thank you,” said Pippin, nodding warmly. “What do I do with these?” he muttered to Gandalf as Radagast went to hang up his coat.

“Just put them outside,” said Gandalf, giving him a nudge in the general direction.

“Right-ho,” said Pippin.

“My bestiary?” said Radagast, shambling back from the coat hooks.

“Upstairs,” said Gandalf, ushering him up.

“What’s the point of this program?” he said.

“They have to live on the island and pretend to be a couple and do challenges,” said Pippin.

“This all seems very silly,” said Gandalf. “Can we watch Countdown instead?”

“No.” Pippin took a sticky bite of liquorice pencil. Gandalf eyed his sweeties, beginning to regret saying that he could have whatever snacks he wanted for his first night home. “Do you want one?” Pippin said, noticing him looking.

“Emphatically no,” said Gandalf.

“Countdown’s the worst,” said Pippin.

“I like it,” said Gandalf. “It relaxes me. Are you sure I can’t persuade you?”

“You said I get to pick the show,” said Pippin. He took another bite of liquorice and scooted back on the sofa. “It’s very important to keep your promises,” he went on, settling in against Gandalf. “I need stability, remember?”

“I used to live on an island quite like that one,” said Gandalf, putting an arm around his shoulders. “Only smaller. Did I ever tell you? I didn’t see a human being for thirty years and I became quite good friends with the coconut crabs.”

“That’s not a real animal,” said Pippin around a mouthful of liquorice.

“Yes, they are,” said Gandalf. “They crack open coconuts with their claws. Charming companions.”

“You’re so weird,” said Pippin.

*

The kitchen was quiet, the blind pulled halfway down over the window. He sat at the table with a mug of tea and a library book, half-listening to the voices that carried from the yard outside and the occasional soft _thud_ of a football against the wall.

“He’s not my dad,” he heard Pippin said. “He’s just like, a weird smelling man I live with.”

“So he’s your grandpa?” said the other boy.

“I guess,” said Pippin. “He’s a wizard, anyway.”

“What, like a conjurer?” said the other boy.

“No, a real one,” said Pippin. “But not the Harry Potter kind of wizard. He’s a higher dimensional being or something. I don’t really get it.”

“Bullshit,” said the other boy.

“I’ll get him to show you his magic powers,” said Pippin. “Then you’ll see. He could kill you with his brain if he wanted.”

“You’re so weird.”

The buoyant sound of a ball being kicked, and a jarring _thunk_ as it struck the kitchen window, startling him from his reading.

“Watch it, Merry!” said Pippin.

“Sorry, sir!” the other boy called.

“It’s alright!” said Gandalf. “No harm done.”

Outside, the conversation resumed, this time softer, further from the house. Gandalf sniffed. “Boys,” he remarked to himself, and going back to his book he turned over a new page.


End file.
